


Mad as Hatters

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Grelliam, I mean unofficially but c'mon it totally is, Shared History, Shinigami Scribblings, and in that club they torture each other, but no one else is allowed in the club, head canon, i mean seriously, interlopers do not apply, they're in their own club, we all know they're both nuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad as Hatters

The room is spare, with only a single desk at the front. Usually, such surroundings would reassure Will. He does well with sparse decoration, minimal clutter, and no distractions. It’s how he prefers to keep his office, although he may not have one for much longer.

“Senior Spears, have you been made aware of your rights?”

“Yes,” Will replies cordially, folding his arms behind his back. They’ve not provided him a chair, as they are wont to do with disciplinary hearings. 

“And the charges brought against you? The circumstances of this informal hearing have been made clear?”

“Yes,” Will repeats, fighting the urge to adjust his glasses.

He fixes the man behind the desk with a direct gaze, but takes in details—the few that there are—with his peripheral vision. Contrary to most assumptions, Will is quite aware of what goes on around the edges. He just prefers not to become entangled with needless details.

The room seems familiar somehow, but maybe it’s not the room itself...

“As I mentioned,” the man says, sitting straight up in his chair and folding his hands in front of him, “this is an _informal_ hearing.”

At least they didn’t stick him with some novice trying to make a name in the administrative division of the Dispatch.

This particular staff member must be at least 300, judging from his demeanor and impeccable self-possession. Will can’t help but admire his perfect posture, and unconsciously straightens his own pose.

“You’ve grown your hair a bit,” he remarks suddenly, raising an eyebrow at Will, “but otherwise, you look exactly the same as you did in 1799, Senior Spears.”

Will realizes quite suddenly that the man is the same examiner as who stamped his final exam reap complete decades ago.

“You’ve been in the same position for quite some time,” Will replies in kind. “I would assume due to the excitement and opportunities.”

“I suspected you had a sense of humor,” the examiner replies, raising an eyebrow. “Although, perhaps it will thrill you to know that my new position is to determine what to do with you, after your...” he frowns deeply as he rifles through the papers in front of him, “... _indiscretion._ ”

“I see,” Will replies flatly. He’s ready to get on with all of this and cease the charade.

“And do you know where Grell Sutcliff is presently?” the examiner queries.

“I’m afraid to say I’ve no inkling.”

“That’s quite the ‘poker face,’ as they say, William. Even for a Reaper who chose of his _own volition_ to give up Collections for a supervisory role.”

“I assume Grell Sutcliff has been dealt with accordingly.”

As if right on cue, there’s a loud creak as the heavy door behind them opens. Will turns in surprise, momentarily taken off guard as Grell is pushed into the room followed by the abrupt slam of the door.

“You look the same, too,” the examiner says, raising an eyebrow at Grell. “You two never change, do you?”

Grell is wearing the plain, light blue shift donned by Dispatch staff under house arrest, stripped of their rank and divine implements—whether scythes, spectacle tools, or departmental position—and disallowed from traveling beyond their own front door until judged accordingly.

Regardless, Will has to give Grell credit for managing to procure the female version of the pseudo-prison garment, and has somehow managed to tailor it to fit every single angle of his body.

Will is heartened to note, however, that the examiner-cum-judge looks just as nervous as he did in 1799 when Grell enters the room. 

After all, Grell’s reputation has only grown with the passage of time.

Grell looks at Will and smiles rather toothily. “Long time, no see, darling.”

Unfortunately, the effect is somewhat ruined, since Grell has also been stripped of his glasses, and he’s looking about a foot too far to the left from where Will is actually standing.

“Sutcliff,” Will coughs, “I’m over here.”

Grell turns slightly, takes a step forward, and squints.

“Senior Sutcliff, don’t move another centimeter, or else you’ll be shackled.”

Grell snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Although that does sound _lovely_ , it’s not as if I’d go anywhere, anyway. Do you _see_ what they’ve given me for my feet?”

He waits, raising an emphatic eyebrow, looking back and forth between Will and where he thinks the examiner is sitting. (He manages to get it right this time.) 

“Well, _you_ can both see, since _you_ both bloody well have spectacles. I’ve been forced to go barefoot, and without even a pedicure!” Grell crosses his arms in a huff, as if scandalized, and looks at Will again. “ _Honestly_ , William, haven’t we been through this before?”

Will is amused to note that Grell has managed to place who exactly is sitting at the table without even seeing him. Grell always had a memory for things like that—voices, smells—and god help any man who confiscates Grell’s Sutcliff’s shoes.

“Shall I just reap him?” Grell asks Will conversationally, shifting his hips and tsking. “I should have just done it in 1799, shouldn’t I have?”

“Sutcliff, _honestly_. You’re not going to reap anyone.”

“Well, even without my lovely spectacles, he looks almost exactly the same from what I can make out. Isn’t it in one’s best interests to improve one’s character over time, or be done away with?”

Will clears his throat and adjusts his glasses.

“What business do you have here, Grell?”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” the examiner interjects, looking back and forth between them and pinching his nose, “but Senior Sutcliff has been summoned here to testify.”

“ _Testify?_ ” Grell exclaims, and Will notes he sounds genuinely surprised.

“Did you, or did you not, reap one...” the examiner squints at a page in front of him, “Angelina Durless? As well as several others?”

Grell frowns, and even Will has the urge to step back slightly at the dark look that passes over his face.

“What a ravishing red she was, _and_ what an utter disappointment,” is all Grell replies. “But I suppose there’s no denying it now.”

“Somehow I don’t think you would anyway,” the examiner remarks wryly, before turning his attention toward Will. “And Senior Spears, am I to understand you pursued Grell Sutcliff without orders?”

Will fights the urge to look at Grell, and Grell doesn’t look at him.

Without a single pause, Grell laughs and flips his hair. “The older generation really should have to be tested for competency every hundred years or so.”

The examiner nearly chokes on his own tongue as he finally loses his composure.

“And just what do you mean by that?”

“You intend to tell me that this entire ridiculous farce is to charge William T. Spears with conspiracy?” Grell remarks lightly, his tone dismissive. 

The former examiner blinks in surprise, and even Will looks at Grell now.

“You know quite a bit about these types of disciplinary hearings, since ‘conspiracy’ is quite a specific charge. Although I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me,” he sighs.

Grell primps his hair and rolls his eyes dismissively.

“Obviously the poor dear can’t resist my _charms_ ,” he croons, looking at Will who simply adjusts his glasses in obvious disapproval. “However, for the purposes of commuting whatever dreadful sentence they’ve come up with for me now, by being _ever_ so cooperative,” Grell flutters his eyelashes, “I must admit I lured my dearest there with a formal request for assistance.”

Will clears his throat, Grell laughs, and the examiner looks incredulous.

“Am I to understand, Senior Spears,” he starts, his voice pained, “that you attempted to interfere with Senior Sutcliff’s transgressions... solely out of an oath to assist a Reaper requesting assistance no matter what the circumstances?”

“Senior Sutcliff did indeed send me a formal request for assistance. I thought he might be in danger.”

The examiner just stares at both of them, and they stare back at him—Grell with pursed lips and an impatient, condescending expression, and Will maintains his own stern visage.

_Bloody Sutcliff._

Will mentally reprimands himself once again to stop using the word “bloody” in front of anything to do with Grell, since it ceases to be pejorative, and simply becomes accurate.

The silence extends for an entire minute, and finally, the examiner heaves an exasperated sigh.

“You two have always been as mad as bloody hatters, the both of you.”

“Oh, _darling_ ,” Grell immediately gasps, bringing one hand against his forehead in a scandalized swoon and rolling his eyes heavenward, “what crass language for a man of your station.”

The examiner pointedly ignores Grell. “Spears, you’re dismissed. Sutcliff, you’re to remain under house arrest until further notice.”

Grell pouts, and then tilts his head as he flutters eyelashes at Will, grinning.

“My _lovely_ man,” he coos, “you must come visit me. They do allow visitors, you know.”

“I think not,” Will says dismissively.

Will can still hear muttering behind him as he closes the heavy door firmly. Grell is escorted away in one direction, and Will goes his separate way.

The paperwork to gain visitation rights to a Reaper under house arrest is quite complicated, but Will’s always been good at that.


End file.
